Mamma’s Boy

Momma had a a bright eyed nappy kinky haired , shy, precautions ,youngster, with much pride in the moniker “Mama’s Boy.” It didn’t matter what anybody else was doing or where they were going if my momma wasn’t going, her boy wasn’t going. Thats just the way it was. That was the way mama’s boy wanted it to be and so it was. He loved mamma. Mamma was the best cook, mamma knew everything, mommas cigarettes didn’t smell like everyone else cigarettes and her boy liked the smell of

When he was about 6 years old. Now Im an entire 2 decades older, having crossed the quarter centurion age mark, having celebrated my 40th birthday instead of my 26th ( I’m just funny like that), been in countless relationships, moved around a bit (From Atlanta to Michigan), but more importantly during this time the once sterling perception of mamma mother has changed… drastically.

By the time boy was 8 years old his sister who is 3 years my senior had been kicked out of the house for her extreme misbehavior and sent to live with family in Detroit for two years. The mommas boy was all alone with his mamma, and boy at times

It was worse than a night terrors nightmare

I have always been sensitive to the plight of children in damaging home environments, because I was once like them. Having been one of them I know the effect it can have on that child into teenage and adulthood, it puts them at an ultimate DISADVANTAGE . Maybe that’s what gravitated to me towards a career working with children

Some people spend their entire adulthood trying to recover from childhood trauma. Most never will.

Momma didn’t have an easy life, and mama didn’t have a happy life. Mama told her boy stories from her about some of the traumatic experiences that she has experienced, the feeling of failure she has being 60 and having to work for what she calls a teenage wage, only being married one time out of desperation at age 50 for two years, amongst other things that any fellow citizen of earth goes through once the real underbelly of life exposes itself. Mama was once tied up and held hostage by a gun wielding ex-boyfriend, luckily mama was able to escape. The man would find momma throughout her life when she was working at the phone company living somewhere in Portland Oregon, or living in Texas, or New Jersey. Momma really did always drink the Olde English every day the boy noticed, sometimes when momma was sleep her boy would sneak into mommas room and suck up the whole can. That would make mamma mad but Malt Liquor was kind of sweet tasting

The doldrums effect us all

That they do

However that is no excuse for how you treat people, or children.

During those two years when my sister moved away he became a punching bag, an ashtray, a defenseless slave, a $1000 tax free child support meal ticket that allowed her to “retire” and coast unemployed, oh mama’s boy

Being used only in the 2nd grade

Oh, mamas boy you love your momma but momma don’t love you as much

Those were hard times. There were years when there were no Christmas or birthday gifts, the other kids were able to go to Jekyll island for a weekend, times where there were school functions that mamma and her boy could not afford to go to, times when he had kid problems and yearned for adult coaching through these things, but instead was demoralized, yelled at, and called useless. It only got worse as mama’s girl’s behavior 750 miles away, running away weeks at a time, doing drugs, stealing, whatever it was. Momma one time flew to Detroit just to beat her ass with two belts, then she came back, scolded me for my binder being disorganized , called him worthless and said to mama’s boy , “You’re a worthless idiot, I can’t deal with a disobedient child as well as a fucking retard, I’m going to kill you tonight.” And pulled out a knife

In a mere moment, the spirit of that mama’s boy died.

She gave him 30 minutes to say his final goodbyes and trepidatiously whimpered , “ Can I call my daddy PLEASE”

“No”

So the sad youngster went upstairs to the dark vacuum of a nook he called a room then began to cry dense bloody bloody tears.

A boy so young shouldn’t have to cry such dreadful bloody bloody tears.

Afterward mama’s boy cursed God and violently dug two prepubescent middle fingers into his temple

“Momma please I don’t want to die, I want to live and graduate elementary school and get a girlfriend and be a rockstar, I’m too young and I promise I’ll keep my binder clean and my room clean, I promise I won’t tell anybody momma PLEASE.”

Mamma said, “Boy I wasn’t gon’ kill you, now go upstairs and get out my face and get your clothes out for tomorrow.”